


A Death in the Family

by Eleanor_Guenevere



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Dystopia, F/M, Loss of Humanity, Loss of Identity, Magic Plague, Poetry, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleanor_Guenevere/pseuds/Eleanor_Guenevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last writings of Mrs. ----.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Death in the Family

We call it "a death in the family."  
It's rare now, now we know what happens.  
We know now the warning signs,  
Like luminescense. We can predict  
A death in the family.

When it began, there was a solar eclipse.  
When it began, there were doctors and doctors  
Investigating why, looking for Patient Zero.  
Patient Zero was never found.

The history books call it the Introduction.  
The media called it magic.  
The government calls them the Zeroless.

If it happens to you, it's referred to as  
"A death in the family".

They say it's not bad, at first.  
At first, all the fur is cute.  
At first, it's kinda thrilling:  
Blemishless skin, silk-shining hair, ideal weight,  
Perfect. That's what they called it. Perfect.

My friend, he laughed in that way.  
Gentle, almost bitter, beautiful.  
I said in my head, "I love you."  
It's not like he could read my mind,  
Not literally.

My friend, he laughed in that way,  
Shook his head, smiled.  
"I got a feeling," he said, "this ain't perfection."

It wasn't, as you know.  
They got happier.  
They got altruistic.  
They got servile.

Well, that's how we see them, usually.  
Lowered eyes, thrilled to please,  
Depressed when they don't please,  
Desperate to please.

It is known that the Zeroless can't focus on anything else.  
It is known that the Zeroless only want to please others.

There are some tears no joy can dissolve.  
Complex thoughts bring complex emotions.  
For deep thinkers, Sorrow is Elation.

The Zeroless don't get that.

It's spit, to put it bluntly. It's spit in the gullet,  
Spit in the blood, spit up the- wait. That's crude.  
It's spit that causes a death in the family.

I didn't get why they called it that.  
This complexity of simplification surely deserved  
A more scientific term, in Latin, or Greek,  
To speak of the physical idealification,  
The permanent mental vacation.

A death in the family?  
What a weak euphemism.

The person-that-was is dead, though.  
The person-that-is isn't a person, by law.

Teachers, bankers, lawyers and politicians, children:  
It doesn't matter.  
Fathers, sisters, employers and employees, friends:  
It's all the same, in the end.

At first:  
"Oh. They're,  
They're Ill.  
Have to have someone else care for them,  
Don't wanna die ourselves,  
Maybe they'll find a cure,  
And maybe, if, then..."

A cure: yes, they looked for one at first. In the meantime,  
"An ounce of preventation is worth a pound of cure."

It's all preventing, no curing.  
'Cause with preventing, well,  
Have to make money, just had to, and, well,  
They're so happy. They don't know better.  
They're not human anymore, even the law agrees.

I am shamed to say I agreed.  
Are you shocked, that I, a well known supporter,  
Am ashamed of supporting?

I agreed back then. My friend did not.  
He fought the system. I'm sure your history books mention him.  
Protests, riots, breakouts, boycotts, marches, everything.  
I didn't believe in the cause, but I loved him.  
I said that, when I wondered why I was fighting.  
"He is, and you love him, don't you?"

"I love him, I love him."  
Thankfully, he couldn't read minds,  
Could he?  
Of course not, that's silly.

Sometimes I wish I never told him I didn't believe.  
But he looked at me, and nodded.  
"I'm glad you finally admitted it. There's a lot of things you don't admit."  
But he looked at me, with such sad eyes.

My friend kept fighting his doomed cause.  
I did not.  
I wish I had.

I turned coat, I'm sure you know.  
I went my way.  
He went his way.  
But I would see my friend in the news,  
Read his name, his firey rhetoric, almost convincing.  
Everytime, I'd say, "I love you."  
He wasn't there to hear, after all,  
Or ask why I wrote such icy rebuttals.

I didn't understand why it's called  
"A death in the family."  
Then it happened to my friend.  
I understand it too well now.

He was easy on the eyes before,  
Like Texas moonlight,  
Like a young stag.  
He's beautiful now, inhumanly beautiful, literally.

I started crying. I thought my heart broke.  
My friend was in a straightjacket over the hospital gown,  
Caged. A free spirit, caged.

My friend, he looked me in the eye.  
"Do you believe now?" I nodded.  
He tracked each tear down my face.

I told him that was the only visit.  
I broke down, visited again.  
We talked about movies and books, songs and memories.  
He kept creeping closer; I'd look away.  
And then I didn't: I looked him in the eye.  
Those eyes were calf-soft, dog-moony, wolf-sharp,  
Inhuman. I thought my heart broke.  
I thought it again, when he said,  
"Don't be sad, you'll start me off, don't you know?"

I visited each and every day after that. He's my friend.  
I'd cry and he'd cry.  
One day, physics went. "Why do things fall?"  
One day, math went.  
Before this, he designed planes.  
He was a pilot; he loved planes.  
I felt like dying.

He told me to stop spewing the catchetisms that  
Justified the forced labor. "You don't believe them anymore."  
I felt like dying when he admitted he chose this.  
Knowing what would happen, he chose to lose his humanity.  
"I knew what would happen."  
I gestured. "This?"  
"Yeah," and he smiled a fever-cheer smile,  
"I knew you'd believe."  
I thought my heart broke.

"I knew you would believe. I'm sorry it was so extreme,  
But, you had to believe.

I needed you to believe."

It was almost done, had almost run its course.  
They were talking money, to whom they would sell  
A number-one attraction:  
The man who denied them,  
The man who defied them,  
The man who decried them,  
The man who was and is my friend.

We're sorry, but you can't see him anymore.  
Excuse me, I love him.  
We're sorry, but we can't allow visits.  
Make an exception, I love him.  
We're sorry, but you're a negative influence  
On the emotional ambience, and you need to leave.  
I love him, don't you get it?  
We're sorry but- hang on, let me get the phone.

What? He couldn't have, sui- Really?  
Are you sure?

Go on up, before he follows through on that threat.

"You believe, yeah? You tell others?"  
I said yes, but I didn't know where to start.  
All he said was tell the truth.

My friend smiled.  
"For pity's sake, he still smiles the same, you can't take him!'  
He wriggled out of their clutches, bent down,  
Eye to eyes, his hands on my shoulders.

"You've admitted almost everything,  
And I don't blame you, holding the big one back,  
And I wasn't fixing to admit I knew,  
But lots of people have deathbed confessions,  
And I won't go without telling you:  
I always knew, and I love you too."  
My heart broke, and he howled.

That was ten years ago.  
I got married to a nice man.  
There was an attempt on our lives three years ago.

A Zeroless tore the shooter's throat out.  
The Zeroless was still wearing the muzzle-collar  
Colored neon blue: Unsuitable.  
Zeroless don't kill, except this one did.  
My husband held me back.  
The salesmen swarmed, holding cattle prods.  
They stuck the Zeroless and got laughter.  
A little mindless, perhaps, this laughter,  
But gentle, almost bitter, beautiful.  
Joyful even, in that way of his.

Zeroless don't remember the person-that-was's name.  
Except, this one did. He still smiled the same.

My husband is a nice man:  
The paperwork went through, lickety-split,  
And my friend had a place of honor in our room.

Knights in shining fur deserve a kiss. It's in the spit.  
Everyone knows that.

It kinda aches, but not a bad ache.  
It aches like the aftermath of truly splendid sex.  
Actually, that could be just the aftermath of truly splendid sex.  
I may have gotten carried away.

You know, my friend is still a wonderful pilot.  
He still remembers how to fly the planes he loved.  
When I asked, I could read his mind in his eyes.  
"I love you so I'll do this for you."

There was a lunar eclipse over Sedona last week.  
Maybe things will change again, but even if they don't,  
I'm happy here in his arms. It's peaceful, and I'm happy.  
I must ask you though, "Do you believe?"


End file.
